Altered Destine
by jenskott
Summary: How would be Scott Summers if the plane crash where his parents were abducted and he suffered the brain damage never had happened? How his life and the history of the X-Men would be?


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Altered Destine

Author: Jenskott

Summary: How would be Scott Summers if the plane crash where his parents were abducted and he suffered the brain damage never had happened? How his life and history of the X-Men would be?

Notes: Sometimes I hear to fans opining that Cyclops wouldn't be an interesting character if his infancy was average and he controlled his power. Fine, I say Scott Summers is a good character not matter what. Do you want to refute my opinion? Besides, since years ago each mutant coming into the mansion must be obligatorily an emotional wreck, with parents killed or hateful at their own child, chased by FOH or Government agents, with zero success in love, with a freaky power utterly uncontrollable, and spooky look. I'm getting sick of so much angst and lacking of originality, thank you very much.

Continuity: Be a good kid and read the summary up here.

Rating: PG or PG-13, probably. If one chapter is higher, I'll warn it.

Disclaimer: They belong to Marvel, and Marvel doesn't know to do anything good with them. It's the reason I write stories.

Feedback: To jorgisimox@hotmail.com. Please, pretty please. If you wish sending suggestions or pointing flaws, tell me it. The quality of this tale in writing and argument depends on you.

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Part One. Different Turn On The Roadway-

"Yes, Mrs. Johnson... Yes, I've heard her... Yes, I've been hearing her for the last seven minutes straight... No, Mrs. Johnson, I'm not being sarcastic... Yes, Mrs. Johnson, I understood it is... Yes, Mrs. Johnson, I figure his mother will be upset... Look, Mrs. Johnson, I see the matter of another way... Mrs. Johnson, maybe you think the noise of the plane engines has deteriorated my ears but... Yes, Mrs. Johnson, I know the trouble is serious, but I think you don't know _which_ the trouble really is... Listen, Mrs. Johnson..."

Katherine Anne Summers, a woman in her early thirties, with a blonde mane of wavy hair, was leaned on one wall, with the arms folded on his chest and a forbidding scowl on her face, looking her husband arguing relentlessly with the principal of the school. Just like he had done during the last eight minutes so far. During the telephonic conversation, her patience had been wearing off slowly, and tapping her right foot on the floorboards didn't help her annoyed mood anymore.

When she heard Christopher trying placating for the umpteenth time the annoying, stuck-up woman on the other side, her nerves blew up, and she decided enough was enough. Angrily she stomped at Chris, yanked the receiver out his hands, and getting it near her ear, took air.

And then yelled.

"NO, Mrs. Johnson, this time, YOU are listening to ME. And you can tell to the beached walrus of Mrs. Samson that my elder son won't pick up fights with her son, if that muscles-for-brains of bully she's for offspring keeps his hands off and away my younger son. Scott only was defending his little brother, protecting to someone weaker and defenseless. And if I see again one SINGLE bruise on Scott or Alex, I VOW that my husband will get that future thug COURT-MARTIALED!"

Christopher Summers, Major of the Air Army of Unites States, observed bemused his wife chewing out to the principal. He smirked inwardly, enjoying the spectacle of her usually pleasant wife exploding her temper, and didn't envy to the woman on the least. Kate usually didn't get angry easily, but when she did, her temper was volcanic. It was one of the quirks that drew him in her.

"Oh, so you think I can't be serious? Go ahead! Try me!" She challenged "OF COURSE I believe to Scott! He never has lied me, even when he was into big trouble. However, Alex was who told it me. Scott returned without telling one word, and went upstairs... And YES, I trust in Alex too! What right do you think you have to question me?"

Katherine slammed the receiver with such force the table under the cradle cracked slightly.

"I swear to God" she mulled slowly "if her ears don't bleed after this, I shan't feel me a happy and fulfilled person."

"I bet" Chris stated soothingly "She must be now sprawled on the floor, fainted and with the eardrums shattered. Don't worry."

Kate sneered. "If there's justice in this world, that woman will reincarnate in a gnat, or in a leech sucking life-force of other people. And the Mrs. Samson in a braying donkey."

"You got wrong one letter, honey. Her son is an ape-like brat, thus she should to be a donkey actually."

The woman laughed for the first time since her sons had returned of the classes.

Chris regarded hesitantly the tiny figure hunched on one chair, with the knees bent and hiding the blonde head. He wondered briefly how to broach the issue.

Alex had come with slap marks on the face, and one knee red-stained. He had seated on a corner, and after telling the story, he had remained quiet.

"Son" Chris placed a hand on his six-year son's shoulder. "Do you want to speak?" he asked, wishing being comforting, but her wife knew that job plenty better.

"No." he muffled firmly.

"Very well." his father arched a brow. "Feel free of wallowing in your guilt if you want in that corner. I'm SURE it'll be very productive."

His words had the desired effect, and Alex whipped up his head, his eyes flashing with fury despite of the tears glistening. "My guilt? What do you mean with 'my guilt'? He only for blaming here is Scott!" he squealed.

Chris stood quiet and speechless for a moment. Then he exploded. "ALEX! How you can-"

"It's his fault!" his son yelled, cutting him off. "If he wouldn't have come in my help when Ted was punching, if he'd stand aside, this wouldn't have happened. But no, he HAD to jump in my help! He had to get my beating for me!" Alex felt his breath collapsing, and heaved deeply, once and again, willing to let his lungs to absorb more oxygen. He gaped shaken, with dilated pupils. "The older boys in the school always are always going for me, and he gets always into the brawl! He ends always beaten or hurt for me! And I _HATE_ IT!"

Alex broke in sobs, his body trembling as a leaf. Chris felt loss for words. However, he didn't wish his wife did always the dirty work, and chose to follow his impulses. He kneeled and wrapped his little son with a hug bear. The easy, simple gesture of love and warmth was enough to soothe the shudders shaking to Alex. His father held tightly his tiny frame, lulling him with reassuring whispers. Then he stared him in the eyes.

"Alex, I want you to hear me, and to hear me well. Do you understand?" He was quiet, with hesitant face, but finally nodded hesitantly. "Great. Listen me, son. Neither of you, your brother or yourself, have the fault for anything. Scott hasn't it and neither you do. Understood? You did nothing for deserving the blows, and Scott only wanted to protect you because he loves you. The guilty alone is that stupid boy, that bully who his parents grant any whim and tolerate any crap. That brat has one that empty life he beats up other boys to forget he is nothing."

"It hurts much to be 'nothing'" Alex retorted.

"It's the only thing he knows to do. He thinks his attitude shows off his manliness, when he'd piss on his pants-"

"CHRISTOPHER!" bellowed Katherine. He cringed, but went on. "- If a taller, meaner or stronger boy than him leered him. However, you try to live in peace, and Scott faces anyone disregarding who he or she is, whether he thinks it is fair. And it make to both much better that damned kid."

"It doesn't help, dad." Alex continued, not ready for giving up punishing himself. "Still my brother is beaten upstairs, and I'm too weak to stand for myself when someone bigger decides to torture me."

"You brother marched into the fight knowing fully well what could happen him. And I'm sure he don't mind it at all." he squeezed his shoulders conciliatory. "What if you go upstairs and talk with him? I'm sure he'll be happy of seeing you fine."

Alex pierced him with his blue eyes. "I don't think so." he muttered darkly. Then he seated up, and went outside the dinning room.

The Major Summers sighed heavily. Scott was very over-protective of Alex, and Alex got a wrong fury at his brother for putting himself in danger to help him. It was his misled self-guilty and sadness festering in him and looking for an easy target. He'd have to work that out, fix thing between the kids...

A hiss returned him to the Earth. Her woman was boiling water, and sinking in it tea bags. She got a teacup whenever her nerves were shaken, and didn't take much thought to know what was rattling them right now. However he used to be more favorable to the hot coffee.

He came behind her and circled her waist with the arms. Kate slumped backwards, leaning on him.

"What a hell of day, right?"

"You just can say that." she mumbled stroking her temples. She was regretting to shout that strong. It gave her headache.

"I don't believe they picked on Scott for defending his little brother. And of a thirteen old punk."

"That is the National Educational System for you. Allow children walk in the schools with guns hidden, but ban one child for helping to other in one fight. That punk DESERVED the kick on the groin. I regret only Scott didn't brain him against one wall."

He nodded. "Neither I believe Alex snapped like that. Angry with himself and Scott for defending him."

Her woman laughed bitterly. "It's natural. Alex thinks Scott is your favorite and is jealous of Scott. He thinks you love him more."

Chris blinked, outraged. "I don't know how he can think ever I..."

Her wife suddenly whirled, and glared him with anger smoldering in her eyes. He involuntarily stepped back. "Well, perhaps if you PAID more attention to your family, and REMAINED more time in home, you WOULD know Alex feel bad, and it'd take those ideas off his head!"

He stammered, hurt. "Katherine, I-"

She did cut him with a raised hand. "No, Chris. You're the full time in the base, playing with the planes and getting fun in the job. When I quitted my job to make a family, was my freewill choice, Chris. And I didn't regret so long as you were beside me, bringing up the kids. But I hardly see you the weekends! Alex is jealous from Scott because he spends more time with you! And it's because to Scott loves to fly only!" She turned off the stove, grabbed the pot with the tea, and walked away. "I didn't sign for this."

He felt a chill piercing skinning his hide, rattling his bones and stabbing a frozen splinter in his stomach before twisting. "Katherine" he breathed "What do you want I do?"

She glanced at him with her head lopsided. "Want? Fine, since you're so kind to inquire it, I'll give you one answer. I want you choose where you want be, up there on the air with your winged toys, or down here with your family who loves and needs." She paused and decided to clarify it. "I don't expect you give up the planes, quit your job, or start to hate them. You mother has told ME too many craziness of your father like to think I could do that, that I _DON'T_ it. Merely I want you spend more time in home, doing the pending chores and your share of the daily ones, and bring up our sons with me. We were supposed to be a team, Chris!"

She slammed noisily the pot on the counter, relieving her frustration, and spilling the half of the contents. Her husband stared him gulping past a lump in his throat, and walked as far as her, taking her soft hands. "You're right. We are one." he affirmed. "And I'm sorry whether I've been neglecting to the children and you, or I've not you given enough mind, or I've not realized before, or everything at once. You know I'm not the most bright bulb when comes to realize important things." he trailed off.

"When I'm on the air, flying on my own power, the sensation is unlike anything. It's a limitless freedom under the blue sky, when you sail in it, and sometimes you stop remembering who you are. It's part of me." He pulled up her soft hands and kissed them, as she gazed stonily. "But nothing on the world is more important to me than you, Scott and Alex. You need me more, and I'll take care of spending less time on the base." He bit his lower lip, nervously. "I only wished we made enough money, and the kids were proud of me. You know, the 'my father is a pilot and a war hero' role."

Her factions softened slowly, and she smiled. "They are proud of you, darling. But you don't need to win one war to achieve it. They only want his father here, playing with them, going with them to places, telling what is good and bad, and grounding them when they deserve it. And I'm proud of you, but I need you _here_ with ME. You are out the entire day, and I miss you."

"I... I'm sorry, Kate. Really. I'll make up for it." Of sudden his brown eyes brightened, and his lips curled in a smile under the thin mustache. "I get an idea! We can go together in an excursion! Even we can to give a turn in airplane the four, soaring over Omaha. And after having a picnic. It would be the whole day for the four of us, without petty Principals or teachers, or generals. I know the perfect spot to land and eat..."

Katherine smiled ruefully as her husband started to make plans on and on, until the point of ranting. She hadn't missed the way he had mixed family and job without noticing. But, such mortified she was, one part of she was involuntarily appealed with the idea. Long ago they weren't for themselves.

"Excursion in airplane sounds just fine." she said. "But I don't know when we may plan it..."

Christopher rolled up the eyes thoughtfully. "It must be one weekend for not conflicting with the school... This next you and me can't... Perhaps the one of the next week?" he proposed.

His wife pondered thoughtfully the proposition during minutes. Finally raised the sight, apparently coming to one choice. "It would be nearly ten days, right?" He nodded. "It seems a good idea. We'll talk with the boys and we'll propose the excursion."

"There won't be objections, will there?" He asked.

"No, I'm sure they'll be delighted."

Both smiled, and embraced tightly.

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Alex clicked open the doorknob, turning the door carefully, and peeking stealthily in the room.

His four years older brother was sprawled on the bed, with the limbs that stretched as he possibly could, and his chest heaving slowly. Alex might be bruised, but when Scott came in the house, he limped over one leg, and was rubbing his sore jaw. A ragged breath and shaken gasps reinforced the impression. Near an eye a zone of purple swollen skin was assuredly throbbing with pain and ache.

"Go out" Scott mumbled with so thin words Alex had troubles to make out the meaning. The blonde boy wondered briefly how his brother had seen him without turning the head, but forced the thought on the rear of his mind. The task at hand was his only worthy concern right now, he said himself while stepped into and closed the door.

His brother was the sort of person always microanalyzed everything and was obsessive about all. For that no chair or clothe piece was out of place, discarded on the floor or hanging on a bedpost. His books were perfectly ordered, and his toys inside of his assorted wardrobe. The dust was frequently swept off, and the bedroom was that neat and clean as rooms come.

He picked one chair, and seated by his bedside.

"What did you do that for" Alex wondered quietly. Scott kept still.

"Why had you to defend me? You should to have me left alone!" he moaned.

Scott said nothing.

"At least you'd be able tell something. Damn it, you'd be well if you'd haven't got into the fight! You're as this for my fault!"

Of sudden, Alex startled in surprise. Scott had sighed. The first sound he did in a long time.

He rose up half of the body, and stared straight in him. Alex was always scared from his brother's eyes. They seemed to pierce your soul and see it naked and bare of all.

"You haven't got the fault, Alex." he seated on the bed, facing him and giving a quiet, serene look. Alex winced under its intensity. "They were the guilty, not you. And I marched in that disaster for my own choice."

"Don't bear to see you as this." That was his only answer. Scott hugged him.

"Cheer up, little brother." he said reassuringly.

"Thanks, Scott." he answered.

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Seven fewer days later...

"Yes, Mrs. Johnson... Of course, Mr. Johnson... No, Mrs. Johnson... No way, Mrs. Johnson... Now you are crossing the line, Mrs. Johnson... Yes, a hole on the wall... Yes, Mrs. Johnson, you have just told that... No, Mrs. Johnson, I'm not calling her-... It's only I've got a very hard time believing a child can hole one wall blinking... Yes, Mrs. Johnson, one kind sort of red light... Coming out his eyes, yes, of course, sure..."

Katherine was threading compulsorily her hand through her golden strands, desperately willing to find a sense to her life and her world. The thing the Principal was saying... no, simply was no possible. That was clear. Ten-year children don't... break walls. Ten-year kids haven't a light red turned on his eyes. And ten-year boys definitively don't drill plaster, cement and bricks with that light. That didn't go with her righteousness sense. Quite offended it.

Close her, Chris was hearing dubiously the entire conversation, grasping every word mentioned. There was something on his unyielding face Katherine remembered very often, when he was thinking and deciding plans, studying options, and weighing long-term consequences. He didn't know it, but that intelligent, focused and intense gaze was a magnet for women, and if she had her way, he'd never know it.

Suddenly, his ears perked up when he heard one word on the other side of the telephone, and pried the receiver off his wife roughly. Then he began to scream.

"Listen me right and good, Mrs. Johnson! If you call again my son a freak, you will be introduced to the meaning of 'indictment' and 'shot at the noon'! Remember: my father gained badges taking down Luftwafe planes during the Second World War. I CAN make it to happen."

He hung up the phone with violence, without waiting for answer, the table trembling with the blow. As a matter of fact, it didn't help his mood one bit.

It couldn't be true.

It was mad.

The words of the Principal ringed on his ears.

A danger.

No.

A threat.

A little child!

A freak!

HIS little child!

A little child who had shot one beam with his eyes during one fight, and had tore a holed on one wall.

No, that is impossible.

However, when Chris was a little child himself, his father in Anchorage told stories about the Captain America, the super-soldier, the Human Torch, a cyborg who burst in flames, Namor, the sub-mariner... and her mother spun beautiful legends about groups such like the Invaders, the All-Winners Squad...

Well, so wasn't a fantasy a man having powers, but... a little boy? And why his boy? Why Scott could to make that? He was a good boy, he had seen that, but could control it? What if he couldn't? How could his parents help him?

Yet he was sure the accident was fault of others. Several brats who Scott had humiliated -with mind games, fists, rebelliousness or otherwise-, waited for him in one corner of the playground to gang together in him. He had been receiving a rain of punches and kicks, when his headaches reappeared. The fit more awful of all of them. His eyes suddenly flared red, and the brats stopped slightly peeved. One split-second later, a light blasted out his eyes. And the wall ahead was pierced as a hot knife slicing fresh butter.

What they could do? Scott ought to be frightened out his wits now.

He stared his wife. She was blanching, and her hands fidgeted nervously, twisting the folds of her shirt like if it could help her. Her eyes were unblinking and glazed with moistness and worrying, as beads of glass.

He combed her tattered hair backwards, trying to give her a false sensation of relief and reassurance. She broke in sobs.

He stroked her head up and cradled her in his arms.

"What do we do now, Chris?"

"I don't know, Kate." he mused. "I don't know."

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Alex clicked open the doorknob, turning the door carefully, and peeked stealthily in the room.

His four years older brother was leaned face down on his bed, clutching his pillow against his face roughly, and not moving one muscle ever. Alex would swear he had been in that position for hours.

It was hard mate out his shape. The room was shadowed, with the blinds down in theirs almost whole length, and the blinds draped ahead of the windows. The little sunlight filtering past the blinds was dim, and barely lightened up forms.

"Get out." a sound choked in the darkness.

Alex slammed shut the door behind him, and seated by the bedside. "No." he said.

"Please."

"No."

"Alex, get out of here." Then something acid crept in his tone. "NOW!"

Alex got surprised. Direct confrontation, while not a very clever idea, seemed be getting effect for the time at least.

He chose push it further "Or what? Shall we roll along the carpet punching at each on the face? All right, I was glad of having not received a beating three days in a row, but only for the sake of the old times, I'll kick your butt. Are you ready?"

Scott straightened very angered, pushing up with the hands. "Damn you, Alex! GET THE HECK OUT OF HERE BEFORE I DO YOU HARM! Are you catching it now?"

Alex recoiled backwards, scared for a moment. However, he realized soon Scott wasn't emitting any beam or light, and regained the aplomb. He couldn't to let Scott believed he was scared -well, only a tiny bit-, but he was up here for helping to Scott, and fear would get worse it.

His eyes paused seeing the shadowed face of Scott. His combed, wavy hair, his square angles, his prominent chin... There was something amiss...

He touched the face of his brother. Scott flinched with his touch, but he went on. His thumb trailed along the cheek, the nose... and when he reached the eyes, Alex felt a sort of hard and thin wall, sticky and soft to the tact.

"Have you duct-taped your eyes?" Alex cried out. Now he was scared for real.

"Silence" hushed Scott. "Do you think I want dad and mom know it?"

"But brother..." he trailed off.

"Damn it, it was the only way. How do you think I was before in the school?" he spat bitterly. "Scared. Very scared. I don't know what is this, or why happens. But If I can't open my eyes, I'll be able hurt to no one." his voice broke and he sobbed. " God, I'm scared, Alex. I don't want hurt to anyone. Why have anyone done this to me?"

Alex gaped but didn't say one word. He came upstairs to talk with his brother, to be with him cause he'd know Scott would feel alone and scared, and defenseless. But it did overpass him. He was a six-year-old, for crying loud. He had no idea of how put right this. It wasn't like pleading to dad screwing up a loose wheel of the bike, or putting the dirty pants in the basket so mom washed it.

So he did the only thing he could think of. Hugged to his brother with his entire, puny strength.

Scott felt moistness prickling in his closed lids, and hugged back to his little brother.

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Two days later...

"I'm sorry for my impertinence, but are you done yet, Doctor?"

"Oh, my dear Mrs. Summers. I regret deeply being wearing off her patience. However, you can rest assured. The analysis are about of coming to one end." The Doctor in question said her. She shivered inwardly. Her voice was a glacier chill of freezing, whichever possible human warmth gone off utterly.

Whether the doctor there was noticed or not, he didn't showed it at all, returning to his bakers and poking around her son. She shuddered every time the Doctor Essex got one hand on his son. For some inexplicable reason, one she couldn't put the finger in, the man both scared the hell out of her and did her stomach churning.

The teachers had given them a list with very important doctors, physicians, pathologists, pediatricians and other assorted specialist to find the solution or at least the answer to the trouble lasted two days haunting them. They were going through the list when reached the name of Essex. A very clever and efficient doctor, with an exceptional mind, and apparently very interested in the little boys. The list stressed the name recommending him highly.

The man was cold, aloof, inexpressive, unreadable, and when he tried something so simple as a smile, not only the gesture seemed sickeningly fake, but also a mix between chilling, scary and obscene. The funniest part was she couldn't explain clearly the reason she wanted to grab to Scott and drive far, far from here. The man hadn't given even reason to hostility, and had behaved as a very cultured, very interested and very polite person.

Certainly no like a serene, kind, heartfelt person, feeling their troubles as his own, and taking the task of helping upon himself. No, he seemed more interested in regarding to Scott as a curious guinea pig than a worthy human being. Or a living being for that matter. And Katherine couldn't help to notice whenever he towered over Scott arms akimbo, and he winced slightly fearfully, a passing grin tugged upwards his lips. The sorts of grin of a shark ready to eat a defenseless fish. It only was one split-second, but she saw it and screamed her warning signals. Her instincts never used to be wrong. A they were screaming the man was repulsive and sinister.

Besides, he was the entire time touching and palpating to Scott, not only taking blood and tissue samples. What if the man was a child molester? She shuddered, remembering on of her dates with Chris.

They were making out in one parking, when both saw to one man dragging away a sobbing, eleven-year little girl. When she pleaded he let go, the man backhanded him roughly and shouted her she better behaved as the little whore she was meant to be and suck his... Kate never understood the way Chris was twenty meters away half-second later, crunching the man's jaw with an uppercut and cracking his skull with a jab. Later, when the police came, they checked to the man, and he was armed. Chris might have turned out bad-wounded, or worst, whether the man would have pulled out his knife. He said it didn't matter. He wouldn't stay quiet when someone defenseless needed his help, and was his duty clean the city off that scum sullying the name of the rest of the male gender. She always loved him by it.

The man wrote down several notes on his clipboard and turned at them. "Seems at last can give them answers, Mr. and Mrs. Summers. Apparently, their son -Scott, right?- is capable of shoot blasts of potent concussive force." he stated in a doctoral tone. Too icy and emotionless, even to be doctoral.

"Blasts of force?" Scott asked dumbfounded.

"Would care clarify, doctor Essex?" queried Chris. She blinked. There was disbelief in his tone, true, but also... distrust?

"Yet I'm establishing one workable theory." The doctor continued, impassive. "But I'm hypothesizing his eyes absorb somehow the sunlight and turns into energy."

Kate shook the head. This seemed science fiction. Where the yellow sun and blue sky and the green grass she was familiar with had gone away?

"I'd like the chance of measuring which are the maxim range, width, potency, recharge time..." the man ranted unceasingly. He was speaking about Scott as if he wasn't right here. Kate arched one brow.

"Is there any way of controlling these... blasts, doctor?" she cut him off abruptly.

He stared straight at her. Kate felt pierced for that cold, slit eyes, and a glacier chilly settled into her stomach. She shuddered inwardly, but outside not flinched even.

He walked into his drawer, and extracted a pair of shades. The red lenses were glowing with a rainbow of crimson color under the neon light. He handed him over to Scott.

"These glasses should to be capable of stop your beams. They're made with ruby quartz, a material that can absorb he energy and your power. You must procure wore them always, or getting them available until you can learn to handle and control that power."

Scott hesitantly stretched the hand out. Then he took the shades and put on quivering. He brushed the forefinger along the rim. He seemed considerably more relieved. He had worn the duct tape in home in all times, and only unglued it to see the doctor. Now perhaps he quit the cursed stuff. Still she feared he clung to the shades as an anchor.

"Excuse me, doctor Essex" Chris broke the silence suddenly. "But are there more known case like Scott's?"

The doctor was going to say something when stopped and looked to Chris over, with considering eyes. "What are you referring to, major Summers?"

"Well" Chris stated with a tone carefully neuter and unreadable face. "We've come just today at his consulting room, and you already HAD ready one pair of glasses made with that unusual and bizarre material, so I figured out you ought to know more cases. And barely had collected his samples and placed in his scanners, when knew the nature of my son's power, and his source. His analyses are the fastest I've seen. I'm very impressed."

Touchdown, she thought. As always her husband was too sharp and witty for the most of the people. And he was right. Medical analysis took plenty time more than this. And he had done the glasses before they came here. Something weird happened with that man.

"Yes, well" he coughed, more put out than in the full time they there were been inside. "I must admit I cherished a guilty interest by the humans with powers. I've studied the scarce literature studying the matter, and I've medicated other several children manifesting superpowers for years. So yes, I've seen some alike case." He looked piercingly at Chris. His mask was frozen ice, but the marriage would swear he was raging inside. His answer was very little satisfactory. Well, no time to dwell in that now.

"Mr. and Mrs. Summers, may I dare me to give an advice?" he spoke casually.

"Go right ahead, doctor." Chris said.

"Thanks. His son needs to learn to control that power, understand its functioning and possibilities and know its limits. He needs specialized establishments."

"Possibly."

"I may suggest one change of school will be in order. The Principal kindly commented his son had troubles with other children already, and now he will be banished further still."

"We'll get in mind, Doctor." she stated.

"Such as I expressed prior, I'm interested in the powered or enhanced humans and his development. I sponsored an important net of orphanages to look after children and when in some of them a spec-boy or girl manifests abilities of the sort, are built specialized sections to help him to handle his own gift. Perhaps you can take an interest in some of those schools. There's one center here in Nebraska..."

"We shall study his offer, doctor Essex." Kate interrupted. "Thanks for his kindness however."

"They are welcome. Any day you want to come to be debriefed..."

"We shall study his offer." Chris stressed with a tone slightly harsher than her wife did. "Good evening."

"Good evening." he greeted back looking to the Summers smiling and taking their elder son trying to seem no hurried.

He stood quiet as they shut the door procuring not slamming. Slowly his thin lips blackened and curled, upturned in one feral, disturbing smirk, with razor sharp fangs shining between both lips. A chilling smugness was all over his face while he turned on his laptop and opened a database. He created a new file, and began to type down.

They'd be back. He did know it. The boy had nowhere to go, and they'd saw that. Sooner than later.

*********************************************************************************

The Summers family bolted hurriedly out the unwelcoming, grey building of tough cement and cold bricks, and went into the car hastily. Chris turned the keys and started the motor on. He couldn't be more eager for pulling the car out of the place.

"I-you won't send me away with him, will you?" came out the writhing, desperate query of Scot from the rear seat.

"No way." grumbled his father.

"Of course not." nodded his mother, glad of the cleverness of her son. And the feeling was common.

"I'll be one week in my grave before letting that happen." Chris asseverated. There had to be other way. Just had.

He stomped the pedal, and the car raced out the parking, stirring one lingering dust cloud in the wake of it.

*********************************************************************************

The prickling uneasiness the family had felt with the Doctor Essex had drained lightly in deep suspect regarding that man when the car arrived steadily as far as the parking lane on the house. Chris sped down slowly, when he saw it.

Quickly he glanced sideways at his wife. "Are you seeing the same thing than me?"

Kate had her slender brows arched in two golden diagonals with concern. "In case you're referring to the car parked next to our door, yes, I'm seeing it."

Her voice didn't hide her disgust at all. The last week had been a wild emotional turmoil, and wonders didn't seem to want to cease. When on the earth would be they left alone?

Chris stopped the purring motor, and retired his seatbelt. Her wife and him went out the car at the same time, frowning at the two figures standing by the door.

As soon as Scott had landed out of the car, when one of them, one tall man with red hair and thin face, costumed with an impeccable suit, noticed them and came nearer.

"Good afternoon. Are you Mr. and Mrs. Summers for a chance?" he queried. Chris noted his voice was of someone used to get obeyed, and get answered at when he asked. He knew the tone perfectly well.

"Yes, we are." He stated folding his arms. He wouldn't be so easily intimidated. "And I'm looking forward to hear his detailed and perfectly reasonable explanation to why you and his partner are stalking around my house." he remarked angrily.

The other man regarded him thoroughly. "His hostility is out of place, Major Summers, albeit I suppose it's understandable." He picked his lapel and fumbled amidst the folds of it until extracting one plaque. "Agent Duncan, Fred Duncan. FBI."

He gazed the shining, golden metal with something very near to the fear, whirling in the pit of his guts. However, he got under control swiftly the sinking feeling, the spasms of dread stabbing their tendrils in his guts, and controlled carefully his expression while regarded the man.

"Nice of meet with you, agent. May we do anything for you?"

The agent got his plaque back into his jacket, and stared him. "Mr. Summers, don't take it in the wrong way, but I'd like speaking with you about his son-"

Katherine placed her hands embracing the shoulders of Scott, giving him a calming massage, and said with dangerously slow and clear voice. "My son is going to nowhere, agent. End of the story."

Christopher turned slightly towards her. "Please, honey, let me to handle the situation" he said her smiling. Then he turned towards the man and measured him up down with a harsh, merciless glare, sharpened with a stream of fury raging within him. "Mr. Duncan, I ignore what the Government wants with my average, perfectly _NORMAL_ son, but my wife is right. Scott is going to nowhere, and I don't care what his excuse is."

The man sighed. To surprise of Chris, he looked reasonable. "I said them don't take my words in the wrong way. I'm not here because the Government wants to take away their son, if that's their concern-"

"I'm afraid, Fred, you have caused in them a rather poor impression. Please, allow me to steer the conversation since now."

A voice did itself apparent, and the family turned their faces and focused their attentions at the other remainder figure. One man, bald and at his late thirties, slowly coning nearer in his wheelchair. They felt weirdly unsettled when the man looked at them, as if he was skinning their hides and staring inside them, studying them as new specimens.

However, the sensation was nowhere as wrong as they felt with Doctor Essex talking them. No at all.

He smiled warmly to Scott, and shook the hand of Chris. "It's a truly great pleasure know them Mr. and Mrs. Summers. And his son Scott too. My name is Charles Francis Xavier, and I'm a Professor. We must to speak."

*********************************************************************************

The plane seared the bright sea-blue sky, thankfully cloudless, and the GPs registered at last the arrival at New York State. With his flight speed, they'd be arriving at Westchester in one matter of minutes.

Chris stroked softly the control bars, relishing at their rugged touch, and sighed. During the flight, he had could gaze at the sun traveling the inverse walk it was set, and he had felt the warmth of the afternoon turning into the soft shine of the morning. It was very pleasant.

He only regretted was the agent Duncan by his side, instead his wife, giving him the leads to the place. She was right now subjecting to a careful Inquisition to that Professor of Westchester seated on his wide chair, while Scott and Alex speak conspiratorially under the adult radar.

The agent was glancing attentively the map. "That is... turn to the right... and straight on from here."

"Thanks, Mr. Duncan."

The man sighed. A sigh seemed to be the last in one long list. "You may call me Fred, please. Actually, I would rather you did that, Mr. Summers."

"All right. Then you get to call me Christopher. It's just fair." he beamed. Then his face turned grim, and raised the voice. "I really HOPE this be worth, Mr. Xavier."

"Trust in me, Christopher." the man rebuked lamely, without flinching ever. "I'm sure you'll meet worthy of your time. And I'm doubly sure you'll meet my proposition very reasonable."

Chris shot an annoyed glare at his general direction and kept piloting. Better than this be good

The Professor grinned mischievously, and let himself relaxing on the whirl of the engines and the bantering behind him.

"Their children are very energetic Mrs. Summers, aren't they?"

"Yes, they can be a handful." She muttered resigned, as Scott looked around fascinated, and Alex sulked with the crossed arms.

"However their moods seem diametrically opposed now." he commented.

"Yes, I suppose you can tell that." she scoffed. "Scott is charmed with the planes and the air, as his father, while Alex enjoys plenty more in the ground. He is a child very curious and likes walk around and track across the countryside to see the nature and look the shapes of the stones, and even gets a collection of minerals and rocks. Unfortunately, because Scott is more as his father is, he thinks we like more his older brother. And that is silliness. We love either of them equally." Kate raised her voice tone, fully intending her sons heard her behind there.

"Jealousy can be some very common between brothers." the Professor mumbled with the most neutral tone he was capable of, pushing back a strong tinge of bitterness ready to lace his words.

Whether Katherine Summers noticed the acrid taste of his words in his mouth or not, she didn't comment. Simply stated her opinion "The truth is Chris and me would rather Scott was more like Alex and less like his father. Chris and my father-in-law are war veterans. They've seen the horror, the cruelty, the evil unleash and turn into an orgy of violence, fire, blood, death and absurd destruction, spinning together and swallowing everything. Neither he nor me want our children see the war never, ever."

A flash of sudden sorrow, unexpectedly stirred passed over his eyes. Hardly one split-second of hurt eyes, arched brows and twitched lip corners, undetectable to anyone. Except the attentive, careful look of Katherine. She frowned inwardly, but didn't show it on her face.

"I have been in Korea." was his only comment. She nodded, feeling a grief akin to anybody who the war has stricken very close. She had been about of losing her husband many times, and whenever she had pressed quite, he had narrated terrible tales about people who never would be the same again, battered, maimed, crippled, distressed, maddened or simply traumatized or psychologically damaged beyond repair.

"Look!" shouted the agent Duncan, startling them and interrupting their conversation. "We've arrived at last. It's over there, Mr.- Christopher, I mean."

Chris beamed pleased when the man used his name, and studied intensely the landing area. In the middle of very wide grounds, with thick woodlands spreading on them, one large and lavished mansion towered. The building struck him very hospitable and warm-like.

He observed closely the lawn surrounding the house, and whistled. "When you said there was enough space to land a light air carrier, Professor Xavier, I didn't think there was so much really." He twisted the bar, coordinating the speed, altitude and the horizontal descent, while the plane was brought to the end of the trip.

"Fine, I must be glad if my maths were right and we aren't about of crashing on the unforgiving land." Xavier joked.

Chris raised one brow. "That was one joke, Mister? Funny, you don't clash like a very chirping person when someone speaks with you at first." He turned thoughtful controlling the angle of the plane, not tolerating somewhat less than perfectly straight. "I'd bet there's more than enough free spot to build a hangar with one or two planes... SR-71, even."

"I'll get it in mind in the event someday I wish to install a hangar, Chris" the Professor shrugged off-handily. "But now I'm more interested in landing and talking about their problems in my office."

He nodded, and drove downwards the machine. The grass beneath was whipped with gusts of rash wind, blowing dirt clouds and sweeping the lawn in spiraling circles, as the deep whirl of motors choked the wind rustling among the large trees.

*********************************************************************************

Scott slammed open the oak door carefully, peeking inside the room with a curiosity burning gluttony in him.

Broad windows let the light pass and light up the wide square tables with pure, ivory sunlight. Rows and rows of bookcases bordered the numberless tables and chairs. Countless shelves filled with books. Pretty, smart books, thin manuals and paper-thick wide novels, with smell to old and wise, covers wrinkled with the marks of the years and the use, and stuffing leaves. Leaves pristine and yellowish, fresh with ink and blurred with black, seamless and folded in the edges to mark the lecture, unglued and glued with years of restorations, empty and word-filled. Words of reality and legend, of truth and fantasy, of analysis and imagination, of poetry and prose, of beauty and ugliness, pouring rationality and emotion. Emotions of love, hatred, friendship, betrayal, care, loath, good, bad, cleverness, foolishness, reality, dreams.

Scott was in the Paradise. Not ever his town had such vast of a library. The adults could to argue with the Professor so long as they wanted -until certain point, of course, and he wanted to know they were conversing, and to get something to say in the final choice-. Alex might get fun playing in the lawn and watching the TV -panoramic digital giant screen. Nice-, but he was raiding the library. He had got a fascination with the reading, and one special fixation with the History and the great military deeds not shared with anyone of his same age. Whenever some boy saw him with a book with thick spine and three-syllable words on the cover, laughed uproariously, and called him geek, he thought bitterly. The girls still were a bit nicer. Yes, they just laughed in low-voice, pretending to ignore him.

He pushed the bad remembrances away and with eagerness wandered over as far as the section of History, rubbing his hands in readiness. When he found the tall bookcase blinked with amazement. Some books were too expensive or hard of finding to put in a scholar library. There were reproductions of medieval codexes, with the smell of centuries of antiquity filling his nostrils. Incunabulars when the press of Gutenberg was in diapers from. There were epic poems such like the Iliad, the Edda or the Legend of Gilgamesh, and a lot of books of mythology of Greek, Rome, Egypt, Scandinavia, India, China...

He looked over the shelves of Ancient History, and gasped. There were translations of Herodoto, Plutarch, Xenophon, Julius Caesar... Along one entire shelve, he found even Ab Urbe Condita, of Titus Livius, where he wrote down the Roman history until the Imperial age. He had heard of one hundred forty-two original volumes only thirty-five had been left. And down there might be the whole number.

That Professor evidently was very cult and wise, but perhaps wasn't so smart after all. What person can possibly let within of the reach of first-grade children books that expensive and invaluable? He shrugged.

Choosing exploiting the chance instead of thinking too much, he caught one ladder and climbed up to took De Bello Gallico, by Julius Caesar. His favorite warlord, so to speak, was Alexander the Great, the general who had pacified the Greek polis, annexed Egypt, destroyed the ancient Persian Empire and built an Empire from Macedonia to Indo River. His brother rolled on the ground every time he heard of it. However, the brilliant general who conquered Gallia in just eight years was other of his favorites.

Scott strode at the sunniest and warmest site on the library, and picked one chair. Idly rested the book on the maroon table and seated down.

An unseen force slid away the chair abruptly, and he dropped on the floor. His buttocks bounced once on the floor with two thuds, and he rubbed his butt moaning.

And meanwhile a golden laugh echoed softly on the library.

He turned grunting at the direction of the voice and looked at...

A flickering, burning flame, floating alive on the air.

He blinked unbelieving his sight and squeezing shut his eyes looked again.

This time the vision was somewhat more reasonable. A girl -probably redhead, but behind his new glasses the world was shades of red-, with shoulder-length, wavy hair, piercing eyes staring him intently and sparkling with mood, and slender body. She was dressed with shirt and a sweatshirt, and a mini-skirt showing her lean and curvy legs. One hand held a book and the other idly the chair he had been about of sitting on.

He should to be annoyed, but the girl was cute. Very cute. And certainly spunky.

And for some reason he'd got troubles to get angry at that devilish, wicked grin.

"I'm sorry, pal, but you were about of sitting on my favorite chair. And in my favorite spot, nonetheless! And I thought in making a point!" she spoke. Her voice was carefree and cheerful, almost as a song.

Scott half-turned to speak when felt a pang of harm on his ass, and winced rubbing her ass.

The expression of the girl shifted in immediate concern, and she stepped at him, leaning down and offering one hand.

"I'm sorry if you're hurt." she said, her voice colored with some... remorse, maybe? "I just wanted to joke around a little. I hope it doesn't hurt too much. I didn't intend to do it, but I thought you were a new student, and-"

"It's fine" Scott cut in. "You don't mean to harm." he mumbled. Inwardly, he felt rather dumbfounded. Too many people tried and played practical pranks on him, but nobody had apologized afterwards. And she sounded absolutely sincere. Her glance was filled with sadness and regret. She was really worried for him, and regretting having made the joke when he was an unknown. And Scott wasn't get used to meet someone giving a damn for his feelings.

He accepted her hand. Smooth, silk-like skin brushed his own when they linked them, and she tugged from him upwards, straightening him. She was strong, too.

"Forgive my modals, please. My name is Jean. Jean Grey." she beamed. "Are you a new student? I'm the first one and only still, and would be cool hanging around with someone."

"I'm..." he hesitated, just for a moment, loosening her hand. Reluctantly. "Scott. Scott Summers."

"Slim?" she wondered, puzzled.

"NO." he stated more harshly. "SCOTT Summers."

"I'm sorry, there was misunderstood. Albeit the nickname suits you, you're quite thin. Though I know it can be very annoying. Most people tend to call me Red. Can you believe?" she replied conciliatory.

He blinked. Perhaps she was effectively a redhead. But he couldn't know it for sure. Maybe if... but he was scared.

He brought his right hand to the glasses. For days since the accident, when he had felt his beams emerging, his head had buzzed and his eyes hurt excruciatingly. But he felt nothing. With a dubious gesture, he looked away, and slamming firmly shut his lids, lifted his sunglasses. Then he opened slightly the eyelids. Nothing happened. No red light, no blasts, no scorching walls. He relaxed, and folded the shades, keeping them safe in the shirt pocket. He slowly turned the head at Jean, who was regarding him very curiously.

She was a redhead, yes. Her hair was long and flaring, as a wild flame crackling on her head. Her eyes were two pools of green, calm like the water right now, but he wondered what they would seem like when she was angry. Her skin was creamy and white as the milk, and he had touched one moment ago her softness.

He smiled. "Yes, it can be. The name suits, though."

"Oh, teaser." she giggled. "You smile is very nice. I hope you aren't offended, but while you were checking on me, I thought you smile ought to be very pretty. And the effect without the glasses is more... whole. But I think your glasses fit you well. They gave you a certain air of mystery, do you know?" She didn't mention like them his eyes.

His smile fell, and he stared down, his face a mask of sorrow. "Thanks, but that isn't the reason I wear glasses." he replied with acidic tone.

She blinked with his sudden mood shift, and gazed him very attentively. "Is it cause you mutant power, right?" she mused softly, feeling an akin sorrow, of a sort very strangely familiar lingering in her.

He rose up the face. "Excuse me?" he queried.

"Trust me" she nodded. "I know the mutant powers" she lifted an arm and flung it at the chair "may be a true pain in the ass" she did spread her open hand "when no a burden or a curse."

The chair slid on his own, darting swiftly at Jean as moved by a invisible rope tied on it, and with a hissing noise traveled scratching the floor as far as her hand, where it stopped automatically.

The Scott's eyes bulged greatly. "How-how you..." he stammered.

She waved a hand "Telekinesis. I can move things with the mind." She said diffidently, like if the fact of moving an object only staring at it was a common, frequent life-fact. Ignoring his stunned, speechless shock, she dragged the chair under the table.

"Do you mind if I read beside you?" she asked. "I can move away if I'm bothering you."

Scott opened and closed the gaping mouth. Then he tapped his own temples, wrestling for self-control. "No, you aren't bothering me. Feel you free to keep torturing me in the next five minutes." he joked.

Then glanced unintentionally the cover. The title surprised. "Lord Byron? That is a poet, isn't him?"

Jean nodded. "Yes, he was an English poet of the nineteenth century. My mother used to read me sometimes verses. I like the poetry. I suppose you can tell I'm a hopeless romantic."

"Thanks. Cause actually I tell it."

Both laughed heartily. Scott, feeling fairly mellow and at ease speaking with her, and Jean feeling very comfortable with him. Then she read curiously his reading.

"Julius Caesar?" she mumbled surprised. "He was a Roman general, wasn't him?"

Scott blushed. Of course he was utterly opposed to romantic, so he couldn't hope she got interest in military tactics. "Yes, I'm quite interested in history. My father and grandpa were soldiers so I was fed with it in the cradle surely. That and I like very much see the past mistakes to repeat them in the future." he mumbled sarcastically.

"I do understand." she nodded, seating down. "Do you want to talk me over it?"

Scott blinked. Then opened the mouth. Closed it again. Rubbed his eyes. Blinked twice. Gaped. Did a pause. Blinked for third time.

"Uh?" he said at last.

Jean regarded him dumbfounded, not seeing which was the trouble. "I want you and me talk a little bit. I want you tell me why tactics and welfare like you, why the history is your hobby. I want to know stuff about you." She ended simply.

He gulped, angry with himself, thinking he had offended her. "I'm sorry. It's just NOBODY of my age is interested in it. For that you shocked me a little."

She blushed. "I don't know so many things either. But I like to listen to the people. And besides, you are becoming a new student, right? And if you're the new student, is better if we are friends or buddies, right? Then we must talk and know at each other, and learn things at each other" she said nervously. "When I said I liked me the poetry, I know you whined, but also you respect it. So it's fair I respect your hobbies. Besides, you were blunt and sincere. I like the people doesn't flatter me only to get something out of me."

He lowered the head, suddenly sad and guilty for some stupid reason. "It's not sure I am a new student. My parents are arguing with the Professor whether they're sending me here or not."

Her factions darkened suddenly. She mouthed a regretful "oh". Her look got down to the tiles.

Then she lifted her head up. "Never mind. I want to know things about you, and speak with you. The most boys of my age are a dorks, and the girls are dimwits. I've got few friends. I'd like being yours. It's if you don't matter."

He flushed mightily, and seated down unsteadily. He started to speak under the attentive look of Jean.

Soon they were past Alexander the Great, and were talking. And talking over things, narrating personal anecdotes like if they were old friends, met together after of too time drifted apart, chatting with absolute naturalness of deep and emotional secrets they wouldn't have wished share with anyone else. I puzzled, the easy way they were connecting in, the eagerness to explain old and private tales or the readiness to share shameful, awkward moments. Very soon the place echoed with giggles and mirth.

Scott beamed sincerely, finding a weird and guilty satisfaction seeing to Jean doubled over with laughter and supporting with one arm on his knee, too hysterical for words after he there was recounted the time he tried one single beer. He had told how two hours later was naked and sprawled amidst litter bins, with the underwear hanging on a balcony, and no remembrance of why the hell he was like that, and how the hell he had left to one formerly called friend talk him into that.

He was halfway of saying how he climbed up the balcony -with such bad fortune the owner of the house saw him, mistaking for a thief, and he leapt to the tree branch nearer, remaining hung up there, while the old woman called to the police and his brother to the firemen, managing to wake the entire neighborhood with the sirens-, when it happened.

At the beginning he didn't gave much thought to the prickling in the rear of his eyes. Scott was relishing in the old, sour memory, the laughter of Jean, the warmth and softness of her hand rippling through the trouser, and swimming in the merry sensations. The pleasantness and the serenity were washing over him as a tide, and he relieved in the sensations. He did let the intensity overflowing him, when an annoying buzz bothered him the enough to pay attention at last.

Then Scott felt a rising buzz on the rear of his skull, vibrating on the back of his brain and rippling across the organ and onward as a wave, with growing intensity. His head throbbed with lacerating hurt, giving the picture of a massive mold crushing his head with terrible pressure, and with iron spikes inside its sides stabbing his brain. A prickling in his eyes grew, and the clouded reddish mist filling his eyes colored his vision with crimson.

He screamed terrified, and his hand darted at his pocket, reaching for his glasses, but when the shapes vanished swallowed in flashing red, he knew he'd be late, and desperately tried to shield his eyes with one hand, pleading to Jean to scram swift.

Jean had been laughing and glancing to Scott when a shivering gut feeling rattled her, an alteration on the surrounding atmosphere, suddenly heavier and denser, loaded with the kind of feeling of something being amiss. She peered at Scott, spaced out for seconds, and frowned. Even with her telepathy locked down, she could easily feel the turmoil of emotions leaking out of him and rushing at her. Dazing, then puzzlement, then surprise, then sheer terror. The glowing haze filling his blue eyes dazzled, and he screamed panicked, touching for his glasses. One hand covered his eyes, while he downright freaked screaming her for ducking or getting out. A crimson light surged out her eyes, and before she could just to think in moving away, it was ahead her.

The time seemed to halt while she saw the beam advance towards her face, and she felt raw terror washing over her. Jean raised the hands in a futile gesture to cover, and unwillingly tapped in her blossoming telekinesis, desperately needing, wanting, wishing for that stuff didn't touch her, unaware of her try for taking control of it and pushing it away.

The bright, glowing red bolt hit an invisible barrier, and bounced harmlessly off Jean, being guided by the ricochet upwards, blasting noisily a hole on the roof. Dirt and rubble slid downwards.

Scott stared incredulous in front of him the unseen sheen of translucent air blocking his blasts off Jean, while absent-minded picked his shades and put on it.

Jean gaped, his wide-eyed expression so amazed as his. She brought forward the forefinger, her fingertip hesitantly brushing the curve, level surface. She supported her palm, and closed her lids, willing him to go off or dissolve. The shimmering dome flickered and cracked before its harmless shards faded away.

"Wow!" she exclaimed "I had NO idea of I might do that!"

She looked up at Scott. He looked so amazed and dumbfounded as she did. However, he was crashing quickly at other emotion. Fear.

"I-I'm sorry." he stammered, shaking. "I'm leaving. Good-bye!"

And he bolted away, trying to run and run plenty, wishing to go away and hide, and remain for his entire life crouched into a hole, cursing his eyes. But she didn't allow it. Jean sprung out her seat and immediately grabbed tightly his arm, fixing him on the spot with a little telekinetic helping.

"Stop right here, mister! Where do you think you're going?" she snapped harshly.

He half-turned his waist and glanced at her. "Going? Don't you see, Jean? I nearly killed you with these... these..." he choked for a moment in bitterness and self-loath. "I must be far from anyone. I can't get near of people." he was freaking, and she could see it.

And she grimaced. It was unfair that he hated so much to himself for something was no his fault.

"'Nearly' is the right word, Scott. You didn't kill me" she mused softly.

"But I could certainly to have done so!"

"No. You didn't" she shook her head. "My power protected me when I needed it, and it'll make likewise again." she scrutinized attentively, and he fidgeted. Her piercing eyes were unsettling. "I can realize your emotions and guess them, do you know? You'd rather I hated or got scared from you, so you can run away and hate yourself, afraid from yourself, wouldn't you? Bad luck. I don't hate, Scott, neither I'm afraid from you. I can't. It isn't your blame, and you didn't mean anyhow."

She looked straight at her face and he winced. Scott was running out of things to say. "And the ceiling hole?" he tried lamely.

"Nonsense. Holes sprouted in this house everywhere all the time." She huffed, and snickered. "The last week I blow up one wall for mistake, and the only reaction he Professor got was his brows twitching. He tells me he is turning addict to Advil since he trains me. So don't worry with that tiny hole."

"But..." he mumbled.

"It is your power, isn't it?" she turned him fully. "It's destructive and bad and you don't get a clue about controlling it. For that you're scared, and want run away from it and from you. I was also scared and locked down in my room, to get away from all, including my parents and sister."

She leaded to both on the chairs newly, and she began to talk. She said him to Scott how she lived in Annandale-on-Hudson with her family. How her life was pretty simple until the six years. How Annie Richardson was hers best friend. How they were playing with a Frisbee one day, and she was run down a car. How she was screaming seeing the blood, and sobbing while cradled her cooling, broken corpse as she died. How suddenly she felt IT. How she was of sudden into HER head, seeing she saw, feeling she felt, dying with her. How since then she heard the thought, remembrances, emotions, imaginations, ideas of the people surrounding her, hammering in her head and drowning her, choking her, until she knew no more, until she forgot who was her. How she insulated in her bedroom, unable of stopping the voices, the soft and countless voices stirring in her head and going her crazy. How she was sent from hospital to hospital to heal her so-called schizophrenia. How she shut out all for four years, until one day her mother talked a day with the Professor Xavier, and this one saved her. And how he had placed artificial mind barriers in her head, stopping the voices, and there had been teaching her to control her telekinesis.

Scott said her how he lived in Omaha. How he barely got friends, and the few ones of them moved out to other cities or switched of school. How the bigger boys scorned him, treated him like a nerd or a geek, and were always trying give him a beating. How one of those times, barely one week, his eyes glowed, and he shot accidentally a beam, scorching a wall and nearly killing one of the bullies. How they run away, scared from him. How he was scared out his wits, duct taped his eyes and closed in his bedroom.

She talked about her parents, John and Elaine. How her father was a teacher and her mother had quitted her job to be housewife when got pregnant with her old sister. How when she was born her father was unable to saying her 'no' while her mother had to set rules and borders. How they were grief-stricken and worried when she began to be more introvert after her friend's death and the voices started to pound in her skull. How they were downright relieved when the Professor healed her one day. How they were scared and wry when he revealed them her little child wasn't normal. How they were sending her to the Xavier School to practice her powers. And how they would let kill themselves before acknowledging were sending her there not only for her own benefit, but also for his own, because her child wasn't exactly human, and were afraid for and of her, so moved her out her sight to ignore the trouble.

Scott talked about his parents, Christopher and Katherine. How he was the older son, and therefore was stuck with the chore of being the responsible and mature one. How his father enjoyed flying across the sky, earning his mother's annoy cause of his obsession with the planes. How he was angry with his father because he got angry his mother, because he spent too much time up in the air when he wished he was down with him -to appraise him, scold him, talk him, punish him, be here for him when needed him-. And the most of all because he understood, deep down, his fascination with the machines, and shared it. And how his annoying little brother was jealousy with him, believing his father liked him more cause that.

Jean talked about her older sister, Sarah. How she was jealousy Jean got the major attention of their father when they were children. How she was sick worried when Jean was nearly catatonic, and when she was healed, Sarah felt both jealous and guilty for being jealous. How she loved dearly to Sarah, but seemed always to have a gap between both.

Scott talked about his little brother, Alex. How Alex both looked upon him and was jealous of the attention he received. How Alex had got the dumb idea their mother pampered more to him, in spite off she pushed him more being the eldest, or their father loved him more to him because Scott seemed to want to follow his footsteps. How both used to end beating up with scheduled regularity, and theirs mother grounding to both. How he was always defending to Alex, not matter who was bullying, and it did his brother feel furthermore guilty. How he loved him much, but they were competing the whole time, and slapping at each other whenever their rivalry reached the top.

Jean talked him about the Professor. How he had saved her, how he had trained her, how he had helped her so much. How much she loved her, as a second father, and trusted in him. How much she owed him, and how good Professor he was.

Both kept speaking for a long time, wrapped with the slowly dimming light of the window and the thick silence pervading the wide library. Very soon they know at each as if they'd have grown up together, and spoke with a trust usually took years to forge.

And certainly Scott had learnt more things from Jean in minutes than he had done of lot of people in years. And he did know she felt the same.

And Jean had connected with Scott after a talk with far more fathom than she could achieve with any other person talking him or her during months. And she did know Scott felt the same.

*********************************************************************************

Katherine Summers strode along the corridors, wandering over aimlessly in the mansion, lost in her own and bleak thoughts, while was processing the place, regarding the facilities and studying that school.

She was pressed to admit the school was magnificent. She doubted Scott could find easily a better place. And the site seemed tranquil, a far cry of the rush and the mayhem of the school he was going before of... of...

Yet she couldn't stay calm. There was something in the entire matter was unsettling her. For that her husband was arguing still with the man, the auburn agent playing of chaperone only in case the stuff might get violent. She didn't believe that extreme was reached ever, but...

A mutant. That is Scott was. A mutant.

The Professor Xavier had defined it as "a human with a slight modification in his or her genetic makeup, which gives him or her an extra power. The mutants are the next step in the human evolution."

It meant her child, her brave, kind, quiet Scott, her boy, was something else than human. Something equal and different. Superior.

Where she stood to him then? Would he keep seeing her as his mother? The woman who scolded him when he stepped in a grimy puddle with his white shoes, and ordered him to eat his vegetables?

But the worst piece, the most nagging, bothersome part, tingling unceasingly in her skull, was the way the Professor was speaking. His speech was about defenseless, confused kids, with a power they didn't understand, overwhelmed with things they hardly could grasp, trapped in a spiral of fear and self-hatred and scorn, targets of hate and fear towards the unknown and new, hate and fear they did nothing for deserving.

The perfect Scott portrait nowadays.

But he also talked about kids growing in the nothing, returning hate with hate and fear with fear, growing angered with the world and the people different of them, willing give back the suffered contempt and loath with hurt and fury. A new kind of humans was being born, and he feared the eternal hatred rooted in the persons towards who aren't like them only produced more hatred. The world would be hurled in an unbreakable circle of people hating and mistrusting at 'the other one', giving in the kill-before-being-killed dynamic. There would be wars and genocide again, and blood would be shed.

He wanted teach to the young, puzzled children to handle their powers, understand to themselves, learn to cohabit with other persons, and impede humans and mutants began a self-destructive war of extermination, that only could turn out with obliteration of the humankind, and perhaps even the planet.

He wanted soldiers to avoid a racial war.

And he wanted Scott was one of them. Or theirs general even.

For every of his good words and intentions, he was going to use to Scott to achieve his own goals, to manipulate him, maybe like the Doctor wished to do. And she had seen through it, plain as the day. And Chris surely too, because was still talking about it with him, refusing being convinced. Scott would NEVER march in a battlefield. He never ought to know the horror of the war. Chris had talked him a lot of times the things he had seen, the repugnant darkness there is inside the persons, pushing them to kill at each other, to take one life only for the simple fact of being capable of doing it. Scott and Alex wouldn't be stained with that.

Unfortunately she was no sure of whether there was one choice longer. Scott needed to know and learn the control of those cursed beams he never wanted or asked for. He needed assistance they couldn't provide, but that man could. And even though she was no clear about him, Xavier wasn't giving off such bad vibes like Essex.

If she could only decide what was best to Scott...

A faint sound stopped her reverie.

It was an unsteady, persistent noise, giggles, loaded with mirth and sincerity. However, the voice she identified joined to those giggles...

The noise was passing throughout a tough oak door, the entrance to the library, she observed with an arched brow. Certainly he was going to that place, but...

She touched the doorknob and whirled it silently, opening the door with extreme carefulness so it didn't creaked, and scurried stealthily within the place. She was surprised, and amazed, looking over the great place. However, she stopped herself instantly. She had a chore at hand. The giggles were heard now with more volume, and she traced its source, sliding the feet on the carpeted floor to make no noise.

She crawled next to one bookcase and peered out.

Scott was speaking with a girl and laughing.

Speaking with a girl.

Laughing.

She couldn't remember the last time Scott lowered his defenses and allowed to himself relaxing so much with someone else, until the point of laughing. And less if the other person was a girl. She did know her son had decided long ago the women made no sense, and therefore socialization with them was impossible. And still he was there, talking friendly with a girl -very cute and spunky, she thought-, and with a naturalness and easiness she hadn't seen in her kid for long time.

Then the disaster struck in. And all happened so lightning swift, she barely could catch her breath stuck in her throat, the images in front of her a blur.

Suddenly, Scott yelled and tried to shield his eyes. A beam was blasted from them, but didn't hit the girl. Instead that, she averted with some strange power. Scott freaked utterly, and tried to scramble. The girl -Jean, she listened- grasped him strongly, impeded him to run away and soothed him with harshness and sweetness she believed impossible in a ten-year little girl. Then they seated and began to speak.

Katherine felt something aching in her chest when she listened to the two children talking freely, telling at each other deep and dark secrets, and spitting their heart out. She listened, mesmerized with illicit fascination, like they revealed stuff she was sure usually would say to nobody. Suddenly she felt sullen, eavesdropping his son while this tell things he wanted nobody else knows, spying him in his privacy, when he was a boy valued a lot that.

She retired silently, guiltiness twisting in her chest.

As she went out the room, so unnoticed as she entered, and walked back the corridor, she reflected she had just seen. Her son had met one friend in there. A girl sincere and caring, a friend when he was in need, someone who understood him when he needed it the most, who reassured his fears and eased his worries. A girl who had trusted him and listened, who helped him with his troubles, connected with him of an uncanny way, passing through his barriers like a breeze and showed a friendship and unconditional support without anything in exchange, just offering to herself in return.

She didn't remember to one single boy or girl so interested in knowing to Scott, so determined to be his friend, so decided to fill the gap he was so helpless to knit, so opened and trusty and supporter with him.

Katherine quickened her pace, and hurried striding along the mansion. She had to see her husband and the Professor. Her decision was taken. And she prayed for it was the right.

*********************************************************************************

Six years after.

"The bizarre raid and invasion of Cape Citadel has just taken an unexpected turn in the last minutes." the reporter commented facing the TV, with a nervousness only visible to whoever knows to look at.

"Resuming events, since days ago someone had been sabotaging the base, disrupting the war weapons at his liking, canceling launchings of missiles or turning aside its trajectory. Fewer days ago, the ominous name of 'Magneto' was written with smoke on the sky. However, no word of it was known for the mass until several hours ago, the man called Magneto showed up. Dressed with a strange purple and red costume and a helmet, and displaying an awesome and unknown power, he disabled defenses, crushed tanks and planes, overpowered an entire army, and surrounded the full perimeter with an invisible barrier. And during all these feats, he showed the same distress used to a walk over a park. He seemed bored, even, when submitted dozens of soldiers offhandedly."

"The situation started to be extremely embarrassing, when almost half hour ago a quintet of persons, barely teenagers and costumed with black and yellow spandex uniforms, arrived to the place and beseeched kindly a cease of fire for fifteen minutes. The general reluctantly gave them his permission, and the five persons, called themselves 'X-Men', accomplished in fifteen minutes that an army couldn't. After resolving the trouble, they said their good-byes and vanished."

"How our esteemed viewers know, the last two years have witnessed the sudden return of super mighty individuals, after one decade and half of total lacking. Before that time, blossomed a vast array of characters such like Human Torch, Namor, and Captain America, stray or in teams, until the point that time was called the Heroic Age."

"Now, however, seems have a renaissance of the superheroes, since the scientific Reed Richards and his family were drastically altered with a bombardment of cosmic radiation. And how in a sort-of cosmic balance, the coming of those heroes coincided with the apparition of villains like Mole Man, Mad Thinker, or the fearsome Doctor Doom. After that showed in the Middle East a green monster called Hulk, displaying an incredible and frightening strength; and in New York a man dressed in red and blue clothes, called Spiderman, and showing physical abilities impossible to an average human being. Recently the butler of the billionaire Tony Stark has communicated to the mass media his boss' bodyguard, Iron Man, and the heroes known as Thor, Hulk, Ant Man and the Wasp have joined their forces in a group named 'The Avengers'."

"The rising numbers of superheroes coincide with the rumors and gossip of the last years regarding some children and teenagers showing suddenly weird abilities, unnatural physical shape or inhuman aspect. So far they there were been neglected as baseless tales, legends such the Bigfoot, the Sasquatch, the Yeti or the Loch Ness Monster, but the currents events invite to second-guessing upon those stories. Super-powered beings are blossoming everywhere, wrestling between themselves, and Magneto claimed he was one of the specie destined to inherit the planet."

"Whether that is true or not, I must ask this: What place have the average humans in one world inhabited by beings with powers beyond our scope? Is fair or sure there are beings capable of bashing armies with a wave of his or her hand? Must be allowed humans get that power? May the innocent people be protected against these beings when they fight with no regards to the law or to their lives? The self-proclaimed supervillains are confessed criminals, of course, but don't forget those 'heroes' or 'vigilantes' aren't polices or authorized persons to get them arrested. They think their powers put them by above of the law, and exercise their justice according their whims-"

"THESE VIGILANTES HAVE SAVED YOUR AND OF LOT OF PEOPLE'S LIVES, DUMB, SANCTIMONIOUS CRETIN!" Katherine slammed violently the remote, cursing to the man.

"Don't bother with that fool, honey." scoffed her husband, seated next to her on the couch, and frowning as watched the TV. The picture was slightly disrupted, probably cause the electromagnetic interference the reporter warned about previously. "That clown pretends to get deep thoughts for awing to the people and making famous, disregarding the consequences his crap may get in the people. Besides, he can't listen you anyway."

Katherine mulled his words. He was right and she did know it. But one thing was to know it, and another very different to accept her first son and his four friends had risked their young lives -One of them was fourteen for the God's sake!- to stop a bloodthirsty monster of swiping nuclear weapons, and a prick told they had neither right nor authority to save his life.

And who could do it else? The army was powerless, the police impotent...

"Do you think Scott will be right?" she said, willing to hide the sheer anxiety in her voice, and not succeeding.

Chris sneaked an arm behind her and gripped her shoulder tightly, trying sending comfort. "He said the five had got away right away. He said nothing about wounded, so I think Scott and the rest will be OK." he answered softly.

Although they could have missed it, or simply not mentioning anything, he thought. But didn't say it aloud.

"What if it seemed them as of little importance?" she retorted, seeing through him.

Chris averted his eyes evasively. Inwardly he flinched, fully knowing how much he was giving away, but was impossibly stare at her wife's eyes and not revealing further more.

"I'm sure Scott will be well." he broke up. "And if not... Charles would have called us, wouldn't he?"

Kate sighed and nodded.

"Unfortunately, we can just hope for the best." he prodded reassuringly.

Right then the door was slammed open, and the twelve-year Alex Summers stepped diffidently in the living room, speaking in his cell.

"Yes, I know... Yes, I suppose it had to be tough... Hey, I'm agreeing, right... Ha-ha-ha, very funny, as always... I'm also glad you keep being you usual dork self, brother, I'd not know how deal with you else... Hey, I like being a pain in the- wait, dad is giving me his 'hand over the cell now or your ears will be ripped off' glare. I love you too, Scott. Call me back later."

Alex hurriedly handed over the cell to his father, who grabbed it roughly. He blonde teenager seated down the couch uncomfortably, while his mother combed softly his short bangs.

"Son? I'm your father! How are you? Speak me!" Chris nearly shouted on the cell, realizing how deranged and rattled he was sounding.

A long silence ensued. Then "God, dad, chill out."

He breathed. The slightly nervous Scott's voice had an immediate soothing effect "Scott? Are you fine?"

"Yes." he muttered shyly.

"Yes? You don't sound so sure of yourself."

"No, dad. Jean is fine. Warren is fine. Hank is fine. Bobby is fine. All are fine."

"They're fine. I'm glad. But you, son how do you meet?" Chris kept pushing.

"..."

Well, I'VE GOT a knack to guess stuff after all, he thought. "Scott, I'm not saying if you talk me everything will be perfect and sunny, but I think you can feel better. And in fact, perhaps I can help you." He sighed. "Come on, son."

A silence, only broken with the ragged exhalations of Scott from the other side, ensued. "It was... awful."

Chris nodded, hearing that cracking voice. He really needed to speak. "Go on."

"The Professor warned against we were up. He told us... That guy could control the magnetism. God, Dad, he might twist the entire base in a giant pretzel, or crumble a building ripping all the beams at once, or crack the Earth crust and making a new volcano! He could make whatever he wished with his power! And we were facing him!" Chris bit his lip. The speech was drying his throat. "I-I was terrified. The Professor said the five of us ought to go out and defeat him. And he said I should to lead the group. How was I going to lead us against someone capable of nullifying the gravity? I was afraid. Very afraid."

"Did he impose you the leadership?" Chris nearly yelled, barely believing his ears. Did Xavier force that burden upon Scott?

"Y-Yes. I was worried, not only for me..."

"... But also for your friends." his father completed.

"That is. I can care of myself, I hope, but... they were being my responsibility. If someone of them died, it would be MY fault. I not only had to defeat that time and walk out it live, but also save them to them. I couldn't commit any mistake! Then one of them would get killed, and it'd be cause I was too clumsy, or slow, or rash!"

Chris mulled the words. Well, Scott felt the typical symptoms. Now if he could just reassure him, steer his fears in the right direction...

"However" he went on. "When I was in the field, the fear... I don't know, it vanished."

He arched a brow. "Really?"

"Yes, I can't come up with a good explication, but... I was more focused, more at ease. Perhaps was because I got the responsibility, but was surer from myself. Instantly I did know what do and how do it, how combine team's powers, how fight his attacks and how strike back, and I never doubted, ever. At the end, I managed pulled out all nicely, even. We remained alive and unscathed." Scott paused, pondering how tell the next part. "I was even... relaxed or elated. More live than never, do you know? How if it was totally cathartic. How if it was that natural in me like breathing."

Christopher Summers shook his head. He'd got enough. The boy was a natural leader, just he had always suspected. He had inherited the leadership of him, of the same way he'd got out his father. Xavier had to see that clearly when he came years ago. He felt a sharp pang of fury, thinking how he was putting his son in danger, although he reluctantly did know Scott could develop his full potential with this stupid feud. Still that changed nothing. Scott could be anything he chose. No forcefully a warrior, living only for battling.

"Scott, listen me" he spoke. "You've done very well today, regardless you can think. You were with your team when they needed you, you did know to remain with your head cool when it counted, and albeit you did know you were scared, don't let the fear held back. I'm going to tell three things to help through this: One, you carried out your mission and went back with your team intact, so it was a full success. Two, you're allowed get fear, but not let it overwhelms you. And three, you mother, your brother and me love and are proud of you. And we shall be always so, whether you keep in this X-Men business or not. Do you get that?"

Silence. "Yes. Dad, I... Thanks very much."

Chris beamed hearing the warm in his voice. "At any time, son."

*********************************************************************************

One while later. Coffee A Go Go.

"And I am feeling me honored of being chosen to pronounce this toast!" proclaimed proudly Henry P. McCoy. "To a successful fire baptism!"

Five glasses clinking when they were raised together, almost pouring their contents with the brusque movement, and splashing their owners.

Scott, Jean, Hank, Bobby and Warren, also known as Cyclops, Marvel Girl, Beast, Iceman and Angel, poured the drinks down their throats.

"Well, that was interesting" muttered Jean.

"Yes, I'd have never believed Hankster could limit himself to less than twenty words in one sentence, given the chance of speaking!" nodded Bobby eagerly.

"Watch, Drake, I happen to know where you sleep." Hank said with squinted eyes, and turned at Warren. "Have I spoken by any chance of my last experiment, Warren, my dear ivory-feathered two-winged roommate? I have mutated genetically silkworms to produce a new, very sturdy thread, capable of taking below-zero temperatures. And I bet my worms may wrap fully a human being in one night."

"God, Hank, you work has advanced much. I'm glad you have quitted of trying assembling Frankenstein" Warren snickered.

"Yes, dig up tombs wasn't fun anymore." Bobby folded his arms. "But he blackmailed us with telling to the Professor who played with the Danger Room controls that time it blew up with him in."

"Or who waxed the tiles a tad too much the day his chair slid without control towards the open front door, crashing him down the front stairs." added Jean.

"Yes, but that blackmail was efficiently cut off when Hank tried to make I-don't-know-what, mixing seaweed, chemicals, and the last meal Slim cooked..." Bobby said gleefully.

"... Resulting in a sentient, psychotic slime with cannibalistic whims..." Scott deadpanned.

"... Which burst out its cage, eating bakers, the microscope, the telescope, the computer and anything metal-based in the lab..." recalled Warren thoughtfully.

"... Turning out the absorbed metal bits allowed it to evolve in a new kind of killer robot..." beamed Jean.

"... Which chased to Hank out the lab, destroying walls, furniture, rooms and anything in its way, willing get us killed..." nodded Scott.

"... Until we blew out it." smirked Bobby. "Hank sulked a ton later, but it was us or it."

"Hank sulked because we got him at last in our grasp. We denied to the Professor any knowledge of the origin of the slimy murder machine with attitude, and still kept the videotape." Warren grinned.

"And because we impeded his best shot in becoming Victor Frankenstein." stated Jean.

"I suspected since the time I saw him in the library reading that book of Mary Shelley and cackling aloud, maniacally." Scott shrugged.

"How do you know he was cackling maniacally? Which is the difference with the rest of the times is he laughing?" queried Bobby. "I didn't know he laughed otherwise to do a comparison."

"And I didn't know, my esteemed and glacial friend you did know five-syllables words." said Hank acidly. "One experiment gets out hand, and you suddenly are Frankenstein."

"ONE?" yelled all at unison, unbelievably.

Hank shrugged diffidently. "Instead discuss late events, no longer important at all, we should to argument about our first established super-battle, cause and origin of my toast."

"Yes, and of the successful role of Slim leading us" Bobby joked, kicking to Scott playfully.

He didn't wait the reaction Scott got. He stiffened gradually, and rose up on his seat. "Thanks by the compliments, guys, but I... well... am leaving."

Before no one was able of protesting, Scott had crossed the gap as far as the door, and exited hurriedly.

"Fine. That was unforeseen." remarked Hank dumbfounded.

Bobby stared him, passing by out the window. He winced with his slumped shoulders and downcast face. "I wonder that is eating to Slim. He doesn't use to bolt like this."

"I don't know." Jean rose up determined. "But sure like Hell I'm going to find out." and she ran out, following his trail, before they tried to talk her out it.

"Wow. Two seconds, and our party is shortened in the half."

"Yes, is openly obvious the battle has rattled to our Fearless Leader more than we had supposed. But then, he is so controlled usually we couldn't tell."

"I wonder if Jeannie will help him." mumbled Bobby. "Or will get into his pants." He shook his head. "I'd wish really they confess their feelings soon and all that bunch of stuff, or else they'll blow up."

"Yes, they will let their sexual frustration climb up, and then either will kill at each other or will make out it like rabbits on the floor. And we shall get to pick up the pieces." he cringed.

"Don't worry. I don't think our resident boy-scout knows what make with one woman albeit she runs naked around him." mumbled Warren.

They stared him. "Forgive if I regard your words hard of believing." stated Hank. "But the last time someone tried to scorn slightly our Fearless Leader, you grinned as a nut, grabbed him, lifted up on the air, and commented your father could bail you out, not matter what you did."

"Yes, and then you dragged him to the restroom, and pushed his head in a toilet."

"And after you kicked his butt to shove him down the pipes."

"Yes, the Professor wasn't happy with you."

Warren raised up his arms. "Very well, I get your point. But listen me, pals." he whispered with hushed voice. "During my teenager years I've dated exclusively with shallow, bosom bimbos. Being son of a billionaire you can't look forward to meet with a nice, pretty and SMART girl, just girls with troubles to count past one and spell two-syllables words."

"Thanks for confirming my suspects regarding your last-week fling, Warren."

"You're welcome, Hank." he stated dryly. "Besides, I was very careful of not allowing any girl getting too close. Then I start the Xavier School, and find a girl with more brains, attitude, and beauty than the whole pack of my dates. All right, it isn't say very much, but Jean is something. We agree in that, don't we?"

They nodded. He went on.

"I was get used to get anything I wanted easily, without competition. Then I saw that girl who liked me was head over heels of other guy, one of my best friends and who I respect deeply. And I also see that guy has fallen in hard for her, but he won't say it because is too scared. So forgive me if I'm being bitter over this." he grumbled.

"Warren gets a point."

"Unquestionably, my icy friend. Perhaps we should destine our perverse minds upon the task of embarrassing our teammates, forcing them to acknowledge aloud their obvious feelings."

Warren raised a brow. "What devious, perverted and evil scheme have you just cooked up, McCoy?"

"Tie to Scott and leave him naked in the shower when Red is going to use it?" Bobby queried.

"Even better. Let's to conspire and plot, gentlemen." he waved one hand, and the three huddled together, whispering awful things.

*********************************************************************************

"Scott! Wait! Damn it, stop of walking!"

Scott Summers startled and spun around slowly. Jean was running towards him, trying catch up him.

He squirmed, insecure of whether slower down or speeding up.

Jean finally reached him, panting with the run. He pondered her celestial aspect, with the still bright sun casting her rays on her, illuminating her face and dyeing with glowing gold her auburn hair. She could have a very nasty temper, but right then she was truly angel-like.

"Damn it, Slim" she gasped "What was that for?"

"Mm... What?" he blurted very poorly.

Jean rolled up her eyes. "You know damned well I'm talking about, Slim, so don't ever to pretend. You left us hanging in the Coffee, Scott. You rose and stomped off abruptly. I've listened plenty idiocies about you with the years, but never anybody said ever you were callous."

Scott shook his head and sighed. She'd got a very valid point, like always, but he didn't feel with mood to explain all he had gone through. He wouldn't know how or where to start, neither.

"I know. I'm sorry, Jean." he mumbled, and turned around.

And somehow he met face to face with a frowning Jean.

He squealed with the scare, and jumped startled backwards. He had never seen her coming. The scrambled face he should to be putting on was enough to melt her frown.

"Come on, Scott. Tell me what is bugging you." she smiled honestly.

He gulped "It turns out very hard of talking aloud." he told.

"I've got time until you figure out a way." She advanced on him until both were inches apart, their breaths mingling and warming each other's faces. "And you know fucking well I'll not leave the trouble alone if I believe is better otherwise. So begin to speak."

She stared with her green, green eyes, and he felt the strong impulse of catching his shades, currently stored in his front pocket, and shielding his expression with them. It did her look less piercing, less unsettling. He was less defenseless before her. Neither they used to do too well.

"I don't know how explain it truthfully." he sidestepped, but placed a hand on her shoulder, leading with him. Jean knew to read it as a sign of him finally deciding to spill his guts out to her. She was inwardly glad and satisfied. Now both would stroll along the walk, she'd listen to him, and he'd allow her give him help.

"Do you think I did just fine facing to Magneto, Jean?"

Jean arched her brows hearing this blurted out the blue, with raw worry throbbing at each letter of the sentence.

"Yes, you did it wonderfully, Scott. Why are you bringing it now?" she queried.

"I wish I was so sure, Red." he sighed in denial. "I was terribly frightened. I was he field commander according the Professor, and the responsibility was mine. Whether someone, one of us or all died out there, the fault would be mine."

"But nobody died. We defeated to that monster and returned unscathed, thanks to _YOU_. We fought that villain mightiest the five of us, and triumphed over him easily, because you were a superb leader. We trusted in you, and you proved us right." she said conciliatory.

"Yes, of course. But all could have gone wrong. I could have us get killed, and I can't live knowing I've failed to anyone, and for my blame that person is six feet underground. I'd not be able bear something bad happening you for me, Red."

"But nothing bad happened, Slim. Do you think we would have you followed if don't believe in you? We knew that if someone could pull the job it was you. And you did wonderfully well. Don't be so scared of making mistakes, Scott. We trust in you. You must trust in yourself."

Scott considered that a second. "Thanks." he mumbled.

Suddenly an idea dawned in Jean, and she smirked in anticipation. "Actually, you did it so good you deserve a reward."

"What-"

He got time for saying no more. Jean spun in front of him, and pushed him as far as the nearest wall. He saw her leer, incarnated mischievous sparking in her green eyes and her mouth upturned. And sweated.

"Jean, I don't think this be very good idea-"

"Crap." she wrapped her arms around his neck. "It IS very good idea, trust me in this."

He swiftly went over his list of excuses, rummaging through it. "What if the rest see us?"

"Who cares the rest of the inhabitants of our madhouse?" she shrugged. "Besides, we're friends. What is a kiss between friends?" she smiled, and planted her lips on his.

She tasted to strawberries, he thought. Or it was her smell? He was suddenly very aware she was like a sea of sensations. Her fire strands tingled in his face, and her skin was brushing against his own with the smoothness of the velvet. Her sweet scent was floating on the air and plugging his nostrils with its intensity. He heaved, wishing smell more of that musk, and felt the weight of her slender frame on him, around him, and embraced it, needing more of her tact, her softness, and her hotness. Her piercing green eyes contrasted with her creamy, thin skin, and this one with her blazing strands marring her face.

And finally, her muffled gasps and moans while she conquered his lips were going him mad. He felt dizzy and numbed while the world beyond her blurred, and he crushed her with his arms, replicating passionately her actions, wanting more of her and never getting enough, no feeling anymore than her and the sensations rocking his body.

On the whole, was a really good kiss.

*********************************************************************************

Six years after. Harry's Hideaway.

"A toast, mine friends, to a well-done and perfectly-executed work!" Hank McCoy pronounced, raising his glass.

Others six glasses joined to his toast, with the cheers of their respective owners.

"To be my first serious super-battle ever, it turned out pretty well" beamed Lorna Dane, the new recruit.

"Yes, but I'd rather pass without battling green, viscous aliens for a while" Alex Summers, Havok, stretched both arms, exploiting the chance to slide one behind Lorna. She blushed, but cuddled on him lovingly.

"There are tiny chances of that, Summers" grumbled Bobby Drake hurling heated glares at both. "Maybe we'll not see again the Z'noxx, but if you're looking forward to peace and tranquillity, you should quit the job."

"Do you think it'd mind me, Drake?" he seethed.

"It's enough!" roared the older brother, not aloud enough to be heard by all the patrons but yes to shut up immediately to both. He scowled inwardly, wondering when they'd grow up, if ever.

"Scott is right!" Jean glared to both. "Before the fight they were more concerned fighting than listening the debriefing. When Hank, Warren, Scott and me went off to Las Vegas to fight against Hulk -HULK!- and retrieving that thing to heal to the Professor, you stay back to can argue better over Lorna." Jean shook her head in disbelief. "In spite of the critical condition of the Professor. MEN!"

Warren chuckled. "I hope, Jeannie, you aren't drawing conclusions about our side of the specie basing upon those two."

"Yes, so much testosterone in the air is making me dizzy." Lorna snarled, and both men cringed.

"Besides, my dear fellow and teammate Robert, so much as I love you and I have been participant, co-plotting or instigator of your misdeeds, I must to signal your point signing off the team is quite superfluous nowadays."

Bobby opened the mouth, mumbling something, but he thought it better, and kept quiet, averting the glance.

Jean sighed, suddenly feeling her shoulder more weighed. "Who is going to explain it to the Professor?"

All stared pointedly at Scott Summers. Cyclops drowned his drink, suddenly bitter. He put down the glass, feeling a deep annoy.

"Of course. I'm the Fearless Leader of the team. It's my duty to guide us in battle, unclog the restroom, repair broken walls, supply us with Twinkies and coffee, rescue to Bobby from the kernel and to Warren from the freezer, shoot down another Hank experiment gone nuts, send to Magneto the photo of our graduation, and tell to the Professor 'I'm sorry, sir, but we're leaving the team'"

"Add to the list making it with Red as rabbits- OUCH!"

The rose flares glowing in Jean eyes flickered intensely. "Get careful, Bobby. There're plenty spots to bury a corpse, and any police will believe whatever thing I'll say anyway." She relaxed a little bit feeling a kind hand kneading a soothing massage on her shoulder plates.

"Don't worry, Jeannie. I'm sure Bobby will listen his self-preservation sense before than pissing off you too much." He glared his old friend, his blue eyes flashing with a ghostly crimson haze.

"I WAS ONLY KIDDING! Come on, guys!"

Hank shook his bulky head, combing backwards his short, wavy brown hair. "The Professor will feel dejected and grief-stricken. Woeful and wretched even, overwhelmed with the sorrow and the heart-breaking, paralyzed with the raw-"

"Yes, Hank, but we can't help it." Warren put up a hand to cut him off effectively. "It's about time we grow up and leave behind the nest to fly with our own wings." He twitched his wings to reinforce his metaphor.

All nodded.

"And what are you going to do, Warren?" wondered Scott, although he imagined in fact.

He shrugged "It's obvious. I've got the business degree, and a familiar company to run." He stared down, but not before his friends saw pain flashing in his eyes. "Specially since my father's death. My mother needs me. There're cretins making noise about taking the control of the company now Worthington has passed away and the pip-squeak of his son can inherit the CEO chair. And above all, Candy would get worried if I went on risking my life in a regular basis still."

His male teammates would usually have done some joke or comment regarding to 'human-size Barbies', while Jean agreed silently with them, but all did know what pain was he now in, so remained quiet.

"I trust in I'll be able always find an account job in your firm, Warren." Bobby joked.

His friend raised a thin golden brow. "Bobby, I'm not doubting about your competence, but I'm not that suicide."

Hank laughed very aloud, and patted friendly Drake's back. "He gets it, Drake." Breathing unsteadily to calm down the guffaws, he spoke. "I, on the contrary, have got a steady job offer. The Brad Company has summoned to the bouncy Beast to its legions to discover all the discoverable things left in the genetic field."

"It's fantastic, Hank!" Jean clapped her hands. "It's one of the most important scientific companies in the country!"

"I hope they don't want to experiment with him, and turn him blue or something..." muttered Bobby low-voice.

"And you, Alex? What are you going to do since now?"

"Oh, earn me the geology degree, Scottie." He shifted in his spot, exchanging glances with Lorna. "Can you believe Lorna studies geology too? We plan to go on here for a while still until getting the degree, and then we'll do field trips to earn the doctorate."

Bobby snorted haughtily. Nobody paid him attention.

"And Jean and you?"

Cyclops scratched the rear of his head. "Jean gets her teaching degree, and me too." He mumbled indecisively. He'd got the pilot license, and he could find job easily in a flight company, even sign in his grandparents' in Alaska, -he didn't want to be in the army-, but he'd wanted since the secondary education something else to lean on. And there was something charming in the idea of teaching to children with troubles such like him. He'd worked hard to be able of teaching maths. "For now we'll live together until being settled on our own, and then we'll get married." he smiled.

"All of you are expected in the wedding." Jean traced a circle with the forefinger, pointing the five. "No excuses will be accepted."

"Magneto won't be able stop us, Jeannie" said her friends, beaming. Bobby halted momentarily in his sourly mood, and smirked.

"It'll be hard to the Professor." he mused. "But this is for the best. We're in our twenties. We must move on with our lives."

"What weird moment of introspection, my frozen pal. The group can be off, but we can always help or act together in the future."

"Very true, Hankster." Warren nodded, picking his over-bulging wallet. "We should to party to celebrate our seniority and the future marriage of Slim and Red. I bet you all one hundred bucks my wallet want cover the expenses of food and drink." he grinned.

"We cover the bet." All said.

The afternoon was spent amidst laughs, jokes and fights, with some abortion of global-domination plans, and rescuing to Bobby of a herd of revenge-thirsty women with kitchen knives and foaming mouths.

*********************************************************************************

Several hours later.

Jean often compared herself with fire and her boyfriend with ground. She was fiery, temperamental, hotheaded, passionate and stubborn. Scott was tranquil, analytical, focused, controlled, and steady. The things most in common his character had with hers were his raw intensity, the way he gave himself in whatever thing he deemed worthy, and his stubbornness, which matched her own.

She was a primal, burning blaze, wild and untamable. He was a rock, firm, sure, motionless.

Perhaps was for that both fitted so well together, like two pieces of the same jigsaw. Without him, she'd burn brightest and mightiest than never, and after pass away. Without her, he'd remain lonely and immobile, untouchable and unattached. Thus, he gave her security, calm, someone who always would be there for her, whenever she needed him, and she gave him comfort, human warmth, someone who he could touch without being hurt, and where he could hurl all his intensity and devotion.

She thought the strangest things, when she was being kissed ravenously, she pondered. She was lifted on the air and pressed among the wall and his hot, burning body. He kept her pinned with his strong arms and his wise, tasteful, sweet mouth ravaging hers. Jean moaned.

More... please... she sent mentally, incapable of emitting coherent sounds.

He smiled and harassed her face with dozens of wet butterfly kisses, as her generous hands roamed over her body, teasing her gently, kneading her flesh through her clothes. While she agonized feeling fire burning in her loins started to find very annoying the clothes, dampened with sweat, and clinging tightly at her body.

He straightened her head and licked her lips slowly before piercing them with his tongue and exploring her mouth. She was melting. Jean dared to half-open her lids, and stared at him. His eyes were glowing phosphorescent in the darkness. Of mischief, passion and desire, yes, but also of the red, swirling mist flashing in them like an eternal flare. She saw the glow in the shadows of those red, red eyes gazing her, boring in her soul, and felt her breath stuck in her throat.

He pressed more strongly their bodies together, and she felt ironically there was ONE thing in him certainly seemed a rock now. She moaned feeling his hardness poking in her belly, and her hands traveling up and down her body, crackling sparks with each passing, awakening the arousal in her.

She was clay in her hands. He could mold her, divide her, break her, do whatever he wanted with her, and she would never complain.

She both cherished and hated that feeling. She hated how he made hear weak and strong at once, how he could make she forgot utterly who was her, how she surrendered whole-heartily to him, and how he world vanished and she craved nothing but be taken in for him.

And were you so much better? Whispered a voice in her head. You know how he is. You know he really is an innocent, hurt child, afraid of getting too close, afraid of being hurt. His rule is getting his heart behind iron doors and letting nobody touches it. Still he gave it to you, handed over it to you, risking to get hurt, awfully scared of the possibility, but he gave it, nonetheless. Because you said him he could trust in you, and he did. Because he said he loved you, and you answered with the same. Because he loves you too much, so much as to take the risk. You can destroy him in one split-second, give him hurt beyond the imagination and make him more harm than anybody on the world, crumble him as a card castle and let him with his soul torn and bleeding until the end of his life. And do you dare to whine about being vulnerable to him?

She nodded. When they began their rocky relationship, both knew it'd be tough or hard sometimes, but couldn't bear to hide their feelings any time longer.

She focused back in the chore at hand. God how could his thin lips be so sweet?

Go right ahead! she ragged, and panted while their tongues clashed. You know I want it

Part of her felt ashamed speaking like this, and blushed. She abandoned so fully in him that she could sound like a slut and don't care at all, or barely. It was the power he held over her, he might let her lost in the sensations coursing her and eating her.

He glanced at her, kissing her deeply as one hand played with her curls, and she flushed. He'd never think of her as a slut. She felt lust, yes, but also love and absolute devotion along the link. Burning, unquenchable necessity for her, in body, heart and soul. She was secretly pleased, and astounded, wondering why and how someone could love her so desperately. He loved her always more than the former day, but less than the next one. She flushed thinking in it. He was such a fine man. And she wasn't letting him to go.

He held her body with her arms and leaded her gently as far as the bed. She crumbled on her, impossible of give a single step more, and felt the pale ivory moonlight casting the room in lights and shadows. They had chosen let the lights off and the blinds up to get a more romantic effect.

She gazed his shape, his athletic frame half-darkened in the shadows, with the white moonlight half-glistening his body, projecting his worked muscles and concealing others, and on the top of it were his eyes, gaping with the sight of her gorgeous body, like the first time he saw her naked.

"You're so pretty." she whispered.

"Likewise you, Red." he beamed and straddled in her. Jean only wrapped in her four limbs and surrendered peacefully when he possessed her.

Long time later, when the sheer desire driving them had slowly worn off, they were sprawled on the wrinkled, drenched mattress, allowing the nightly cold cooling slowly their bodies, entirely motionless after of the strong physical wear. Only their chests heaving up and down and their ragged pants disrupted the picture of stillness and silence.

Jean Grey rolled sideways, lazily dragging one sheet with her, wincing with her sore muscles. Feeling the thin fabric as a heavy burden, weighing on her chest and blistering her skin, she kicked it away, and winced with the cracks of her joints. God, that had been a hell of night. She remained still and motionless, too spent to do anymore, while her self recovered itself of the ordeal.

Her head dropped sideways more cause of the gravity than any wish of moving, and her glazed eyes spotted to Scott. He was leaned on his side, staring her while he recovered, his fingers drumming lazily the bedspread.

Seeing him perusing her did a tingling spread along her chest. She gasped, wondering which was her trouble, turned on so hugely even after that heavy performance.

"You scare me sometimes." she murmured. Jean averted her eyesight to the level, dark ceiling. "When we are together, the world fades. I want to throw me into you, forget my self, my name, and my life. The only thing I want is lose me fully into, drown me into you, mix up in you, tossing to the wind the person is Jean Grey, live only to fulfill your necessities and desires, and never return to the surface. I want to toss the wind my person, quit being Jean Grey and being only 'yours'." she shook her head. "I live only for you and to you, feeding me with you love and eaten live for him. And it worries me. The extremes this love and passion without boundaries may drive me. You give live and consume, make me go crazy." she concluded.

Scott had remained very quiet during her speech, looking her over attentively. Unsteady he reached out with one hand, caressing her cheek. "May you believe I feel me likewise?"

She smiled tiredly. "Oh, do you do?"

"Yes." he untangled idly some red strands. "I love you. And when I'm with you, forget any other thing. Nothing seems care some else. I need you so much it scares me."

She nodded. "And I don't believe I can stop ever."

"I can't do it. And really I don't want..."

"Neither me. Then I suppose our single option left is stick together."

"So it seems."

Either of them gazed at each other silently, warily, for minutes. The sentences had relevance very meaningful in that moment, more than was discernible at first glance. They had been friends and after item for a decade. However now they were leaving the school and walking in the adult world. Form now the old situations would gave way to new ones unfolding, and nothing would be the same. A lot of things would change, others should to change, and others had better to not change. Their love had survived to the adolescence, and had grown stronger. But would it survive to the adulthood?

They only could to find out living. And the prospect was partially eerie.

"Jean, not matter what things happen from now. I love you and don't regret anything I've lived with you. No at the least."

"Thanks, Scott." she mused, and then chose to add something exploiting the moment. "You're both the man I love and my best friend. I'm very thankful to whichever gods by having you known at least, and being with you."

"Me too, Jean. And I promise I'll try not screw it up, or give up easily."

"Thanks, Scott. I'm not a quitter either, so I also promise you to fight for this. I don't want see it go to waste."

Both snuggled together, making profit of the odd instant of peace in their shaken lives, relaxing and wondering randomly by the things the tomorrow would come with.

Neither might possibly ever imagine the scope or the nature of the trials the live would throw in with the years.

*********************************************************************************

End Part One.

Next Part: The Legend of the Dark Phoenix. The entire Phoenix Saga, not only how it happened retcons-free, but also with the finale it should have got.


End file.
